


Blood Splattered Snow

by BookDragon2005



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Depression, M/M, No Fluff, Not Canon Compliant, Sucide, but it has crap writing so you probably wont really feel sad so, hope you like it?, i mean have fun, this is sad ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-12-06 22:48:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18226436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookDragon2005/pseuds/BookDragon2005
Summary: (Wow that title sure is good innit)Uhh alternate ending i guess. The writing sucks btw. hope you enjoy. baz dies. (im sorry)





	Blood Splattered Snow

_Blood. So much blood._

The world been painted a vibrant shade of blood red, the snow around them filled with beautiful, almost artistic, splatters of blood. Simon, however, failed to appreciate the beauty of that particular detail, as he was instead preoccupied with staring at Baz as the life slowly drained out if him. he was numb. He could no longer feel the cold, the snow that fell on his skin. But he was hyperaware of Baz’s every breath, every slow, stuttering rise of his too-thin chest.

_He’s… he’s dying._

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and Simon couldn’t breathe. Baz is dying. _Dying dying dying._ His face is ashen, once golden skin pale as the boy he thought he hated. It had been so easy to win against him. The whole fight had been… routine, like another one of their fifth year scuffles instead of a battle of fucking life and death.

And Baz had lost. That was one detail Simon couldn’t believe. This was Baz. He didn’t _lose_. Nothing fucking fazed him. He was untouchable. Perfect. Even in those rare moments Simon let himself think about their final fight, it always ended the same way, with Baz giving him a rare smile, grey eyes crinkling in glee because they had finally won against the great Simon Snow. There was laughter, and taunts, and sometimes, in Simons more indulgent daydreams (though he had no idea what exactly he was indulging) some tears, maybe a whispered confession of ‘You weren’t so bad after all, Snow’.

He snapped out of his shock when Baz placed a too-cold hand aginst his cheek to wipe away the tears Simon hadn’t realized were falling.

“B-Baz? Baz youre not going to die right Baz you can’t please Baz please” Simon didn’t know why he was begging, why the thought if Baz dying had released a dam of words from inside him.

“Shh, love, it’ll be okay. You’re going to be fine. Don’t cry, darling.” Why was Baz comforting him? Why wasn’t he angry at Simon? Why was he pulling himself up on his elbow and kissing Simon softly, softly, as if Simon might break and – _oh._ Baz collapsed again, meeting Simon’s eyes for the last time as he uttered the three words that would forever change Simon’s life.

“I love you.” Then Baz’s eyes shut, and he took one last, stuttering breath before his chest rose and fell no more

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“Seems distant…”

“Hasn’t been the same since, you know…”

“Doesn’t eat, no appetite at all, I’ve heard…”

“Broke up with that Wellblove girl…”

“I heard he went to the funeral…”

Broken. That’s what Simon felt like. Cracked, pieces there but out of place. Baz had torn a hole right through his chest and refused to fix it, because he was git, because was gone, because Simon had killed him.

He had taken Simon’s heart and shattered it with an ‘I love you’ and a soft kiss. Maybe others thought he mourned the loss of his fallen mentor, that he didn’t know what to do without an overbearing father figure to guide him. But he didn’t care, maybe he would’ve, before, before he stopped feeling all together. After all, what was a wound when you’ve lost your body?

But it was better this way. Better that no one knew. Better that they didn’t suspect, that they didn’t try to stop him. I mean, it was going to be a real hassle for the newspapers to try and put a positive spin on the chosen one committing suicide. But he wasn’t, not really. He was just paying back the debt that he owed the universe for killing Baz. An ear for an ear. An eye for an eye. A tongue for a tongue.

A life for a life.

And so, a mere two months after the death of Tyrannus Bastillion Grimm-Pitch the III, the world of mages mourned the loss of their greatest hero.

A tragedy, said most.

A fool, said others.

Inevitable, said the wise

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Two tombstones sit side by side. Underneath one, there is no body. The official tomb has been placed in a field, far away, and it is large and extravagant and pompous and everything Simon Snow was not.

This tombstone is plain, nothing but a slab of white limestone and gold lettering that reads: “Audre est Facere”

The second tombstone is made of marble. The epitaph is intentionally hard to read, the lettering black and blocky. The owner of the tombstone had specifically instructed his family to write this as his epitaph: “Utinam Ne Illum Numquam Conspexissem”

A lone straggler kneels in front of the whit tombstone. She is openly weeping, and in her hands she holds painfully tight to flowers that are as bright as her dyed hair. She is the one that has placed the white tombstone here, because she alone understands why he had to leave them. She hates him for it, but she understands.


End file.
